


Paint It Black

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Song: "Paint It Black" by the Rolling Stones, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I look inside myself and see my heart is black. I see my red door, I must have it painted black. Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts. It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black.”</p><p>[Songfic to the Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black.” Dark Ten. Post WoM.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint It Black

**Author's Note:**

> Dark Ten. Post-Waters of Mars. Rape/Non-Con. So sorry about that--you're probably going to hate me for this. Starts off as moody dark!Ten sulking, then stuff escalates. I'm not even sure where I was going with this one. Oh, and it's a songfic to the Rolling Stones' "Paint It Black." Inspired after watching some Dark!Doctor vids and watching [this video.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVulhHMQpiA) Multiple times.

****

The Doctor gripped the TARDIS’ console tightly, head reeling over seeing Ood Sigma. Where could he go now, now that his song was ending?

“No!” he yelled angrily, pulling down a lever. His timeship dematerialized and flew into the Time Vortex.

Adelaide had been wrong to lecture him about the Time Lord Victorious. He could do _anything_ now—and there was no one to stop him. But what was the point of traveling the universe now? He’d lost Rose to the alternate universe and his meta-crisis . . . and she had been the only one he’d ever loved.

Sometimes, he wondered why he didn’t just let loose all his rage and fury.

_I see my red door and I want it painted black.  
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black._

There was _nothing_ for him now. He’d lost Rose, Martha, Donna, and Jack—not to mention his own people. If only the interior of the TARDIS could change color to reflect his mood, because right then the Doctor wanted everything to turn black. No more colors. When he looked at the doors of the TARDIS he wanted them painted black as night, black as coal. Maybe it would make him feel better.

_I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes.  
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes._

A dark smirk curved his lips as he remembered Rose, Martha, and Donna’s reactions to first being in the TARDIS—and what they’d been wearing. Donna had been in her wedding dress—he still didn’t understand that one; Martha had worn a brown leather jacket, dark jeans, and a red blouse; and Rose . . . _his Rose_ . . . had that gray-and-purple hoodie, gray shirt, blue jeans. . . . Yeah, they’d all been wearing summer clothes, in a way.

The Doctor turned his head, studied the readings on the TARDIS’ computer. “Ah, here we go.” He engaged the landing, heard the familiar grinding noises as his ship materialized. Then he stepped out into what appeared to be a nightclub, Earth, circa 2005, one that ran to the darker edge of the imagination. Apparently this one specialized in vamps. Not his usual cup of tea, but right then he didn’t care. There was nothing these wannabes could do to him anyway—he was the Time Lord Victorious with nothing to lose. And that made him dangerous, very dangerous. If they knew what he was, _who_ he was, they wouldn’t dare do anything to risk the wrath of the Oncoming Storm.

_I see a line of cars and they’re all painted black  
With flowers and my love both never to come back._

The Doctor was feeling restless again so he moved through the crowd, noting the majority of patrons wore black. Fine by him, so long as none of them bothered him.

He stepped outside into the night, saw the line of parked cars. All of them appeared to be painted black, and he remembered how Rose was listed among the dead from the Battle of Canary Wharf. And, in a way, she was. He could never go back and retrieve her, not without ripping a hole in both universes.

His already-moody face darkened even further as he lost himself in memories.

_Rose . . ._

_I see people turn their heads and quickly look away.  
Like a new born baby it just happens every day._

Vaguely he was aware of passerby eyeing him oddly, but he was well used to that by now. In this case it was probably because he’d walked out of a vampire-themed nightclub wearing a brown suit and trench coat with grubby white sneakers. Ah well, not his problem. Right now he could care less what humans thought of him, given his current mood. The Doctor just wanted to be left alone, maybe commit genocide a few times. (Something about that should have bothered him. He remembered telling someone to look up genocide in the dictionary, under which they’d find a picture of him and the words “Over my dead body!”.)

The Doctor kept walking, not sure where his feet were taking him. He ended up seeing himself reflected in a shop window.

_I look inside myself and see my heart is black.  
I see my red door, I must have it painted black._

His face was completely expressionless, fudge-colored eyes hard as obsidian and almost as black. Normally that would have disturbed him--but given his current state of mind . . .

At least it gave him an opportunity to look inside himself. He was almost as damaged as he’d been after the Time War, even more so now. The Oncoming Storm, scourge of the Dalek fleet, the Destroyer of Worlds. Davros had been right about that: he’d murdered his own people.

Suddenly sick with himself, he spun on his heel and headed back towards his TARDIS. When the dark blue door came into sight, he couldn’t help but wish it was black.

_Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts.  
It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black._

The Doctor slipped inside the TARDIS and once again sent it into the Vortex. Once again he was running--he’d started running when he was a kid and he hadn’t stopped running since. But what was he running from? The darkness? Consequences? Or himself? Did it even matter? With his TARDIS he never had to face the consequences of his actions throughout the universe.

Right now he didn’t care where he went, so long as it was away from Earth. For a fleeting moment he wanted to go home to Gallifrey . . . but there _was_ no Gallifrey. It had burned like the Earth when the latter’s sun expanded, taking with it the Time Lords and the Daleks (or so he’d thought; the Daleks had a nasty habit of showing up).

Without really thinking about it, he set the coordinates for random. Wherever and whenever he ended up was okay with him.

Rose’s purple shirt was still somewhere in the TARDIS, he remembered. Okay, it was a random thought but one that unleashed so many memories of his first companion after the Time War and the companions that followed, as well as their sad fates.

_Rose, Jack, Martha, Donna . . . Rose . . ._

_No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue.  
I could not foresee this thing happening to you._

He could easily remember being forced to leave her at Bad Wolf Bay. The first time he’d had no choice; the second, he’d left her with a half-human clone of himself to spend the rest of her life with. There was no way he could have foreseen either of those events, nor what had happened to Donna Noble. He’d been forced to wipe her mind despite her pleading cries of “No! No! No!” It had been the only way to save her from the Doctor-Donna--the Time Lord brain inside a human body was killing her and she couldn’t handle it. At least Rose had been able to hold in the Time Vortex better than Donna had handled having all that knowledge.

. . . And he was back to thinking about Rose. Great. Brilliant. Fantastic. _Molto bene._

He really needed to get a life.

Oh, wait.

He did have one. Sort of.

_If I look hard enough into the settin’ sun,  
My love will laugh with me before the mornin’ comes._

Memories of visiting New Earth with Rose filled his mind: the two of them lying stretched out on his trench coat laughing together; Rose’s body kissing him, nearly shagging him right then and there; the damning words spoken from his own mouth—“You’ve been looking. You like it.” Granted, he hadn’t been in control of his body at the time, but . . .

The mental image of Rose kissing his metacrisis flashed in his mind, and jealousy raged through him. It should have been _him,_ not his metacrisis, and he, coward that he was, had chickened out with “Does it need saying?”

At least now the Doctor had a destination in mind: Pete’s World. And there was no reason why he couldn’t get through; after all, he had first arrived there with Rose and Mickey the idiot completely by accident.

Right, that settled it: He was going back fro her, consequences be damned. He was the Time Lord Victorious, the Oncoming Storm. Crossing into a parallel universe that was supposed to be closed off and having his beloved TARDIS shut down for eight hours wasn’t going to stop him. Not if it meant he could reclaim _his_ Rose.

_I see a red door and I want it painted black.  
No colors anymore, I want them to turn black._

The TARDIS shuddered and rocked violently as it crossed into and over the Void, but the Doctor moved with it until it finally landed. He sprinted over to the door, opened it, checked to see if he was really in Pete’s World, then stepped out. Unsurprisingly, he was on Bad Wolf Bay. It made sense, since when he first encountered the Bad Wolf she had used her power to reunite Rose with her first Doctor. He’d regenerated into this form after absorbing all the energy of the Vortex—and no one was meant to do that.

It was almost dark. A fiery orange-red ball was sinking below the waves, turning the water to flame. If he was in his right mind the Doctor would have marveled at the sight—but he wasn’t in his right mind. To him, everything was tinted black.

His ears picked up the now-familiar sound of a teleport, and he whirled around to see Rose Tyler standing there. (His double, he was pleased to see, was nowhere in sight.) Without thinking, he walked toward her, his pace quickening with each step until he was running.

_I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes.  
I have to turn my head until my darkness goes._

Rose just stood still, disbelief warring with happiness at finding him again. “How . . .?” she breathed. “Doctor?”

“Yep,” he said with some of his old cheekiness. His mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile. “It’s me.”

“But you can’t! You can’t be here! The damage it could do . . . This isn’t even your universe!”

“It’s not yours either,” he replied coolly.

She recoiled but quickly recovered. “What are you doing here, Doctor?”

His fingers ghosted over the bare flesh of her arm, curled over the nape of her neck. Goosebumps appeared where he’d touched her, the fine hairs standing up, and tiny tremors were causing her to shiver. “What do you think?” he asked, voice low, hooded dark brown eyes roaming over her body. He circled around her; and Rose, not wanting him to leave her sight, twisted around so that her back was to the TARDIS.

Dark triumph gleamed in the Doctor’s eyes. _Oh, this is too easy._ He walked forward, Rose nervously stepping away from him until she was backed up against the wood of the TARDIS.

“Doctor?” Rose started, voice shaky. “What’re you—?”

He leaned in close, hands braced on either side of her, dark eyes hungry. “Rose . . .” he rasped, eyes searching her face. She had gone completely still beneath him and her expression was frozen. Her whiskey-brown eyes were wide with fear, but he was so far gone in his own dark desires that he didn’t care. She belonged to _him_ , not some lesser version of himself, and it was long since time for him to claim what was _his_.

The sun had well set by now and the lengthening shadows and silver moonlight enhanced the setting. His mouth massaged her own, gently at first but quickly becoming rougher. He pressed the length of his body flush against hers, ignored Rose’s strangled gasp. Her hips wriggled against his involuntarily—an automatic reaction—and the Doctor moaned into her mouth as her core brushed against his arousal. His hands dropped from the TARDIS, went to her jeans. His nimble fingers made quick work of her jeans and knickers, and he plunged two fingers inside of her, tearing his mouth away from hers to nuzzle at her collarbone. Rose cried out with pain as he curled the fingers inside her—it was too quick, her body wasn’t ready—and his lips curved against her skin in a dark grin.

Suddenly using just his fingers wasn’t enough—and his trousers were tight, way too tight. He pulled his fingers out, fumbled with his trousers’ front, and then he was burying himself deep inside her.

“Mine,” he growled into her neck as he pounded into her. “You. Are. _Mine.”_

Rose said nothing, but her body was quivering underneath his. A tiny, rational part of the Doctor’s brain said she was scared of him—and rightly so—but he couldn’t stop now. 

A shudder racked his lean body when he spilled his seed inside her. At the same moment, before he slipped out of her, he rested his fingers on her temples. Rose’s eyes closed and she slumped against him. The Doctor slipped out of her and eased her down on the ground; then he tucked himself away and entered the TARDIS. After he sent it into flight, what he had just done to Rose hit him with sudden force. Self-loathing burned inside him even as he remembered the sensation of finally being inside her. 

_What have I done?_ he thought in dismay. How could he look at himself in the mirror now, knowing what he‘d done to her and had traumatized her for life? 

__I wanna see your face painted black._  
_ _Black as night, black as coal._

___I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky._  
 _I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black.  
Yeah!_


End file.
